Although signs at last year’s Women’s March made witty jabs at the then-new president, friends who took part in the anti-gun march on Saturday, March 24, reported that — in keeping with the gravity of the issue — most of the signage was serious.

But Adda Dada, astute observer, spotted this one, held by a mom: “Let’s just melt all the guns AND make jewelry for TRANSGENDER IMMIGRANTS.” The sign held by the woman’s daughter: “I don’t know how to explain to adults why you should care about other people.”

P.S.: Kent Peterman, just back from a cruise to Mexico, brought back a T-shirt from Mazatlan: “Be calm. You are on the fun side of the wall.”

•“Revelations: Art from the African American South,” will end after Saturday, March 30, after a very successful 10-month run at the de Young Museum. It was the museum’s first major exhibition focusing on the history of African Americans in the U.S., and it was spread over seven galleries.

On Saturday, March 24, there was a standing-room-only kind of goodbye event at the museum titled “All the Women in My Family Sing,” the name taken from editor Deborah Santana’s anthology of writings by women of color. Also on the program were Belva Davis and Natalie Baszile.

Davis, a trustee of the Fine Arts Museums and an enthusiastic supporter of the show, was delighted to share some entries from the visitors’ book at the exhibition. Among them: “Thank you for this exhibit, especially for those who have not seen, known, nor experienced the sad reality of racism nor slavery. May God almighty please help us to be forgiving and loving to our brothers and sisters of all races.”

•The opening of “Christopher Felver: The Imagination of American Poets,” was celebrated with a reading/gathering at the Jewett Gallery downstairs at the San Francisco Main Library on Sunday, March 25. The event was billed, too, as a birthday celebration for art curator/museum director PeterSelz and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, both of whom had turned 99 that week, a few days apart.

The exhibition, of photos that have appeared in Felver’s books, includes 50 of his portraits of poets, framed along with subjects’ handwritten versions of their writings. Selz praised Sue Kubly, billed (with him) as co-curator, but identified by himself as the primary curator. Ferlinghetti was there in photo form, as well as in a Felver video reading “History of the Airplane.”

San Francisco poet laureate Kim Shuck was master of ceremonies for the readings. Former poet laureate of the United States Robert Hass noted that former San Francisco poet laureate “Lawrence must love that the city that tried to arrest him and put him in jail was now honoring him.” Former San Francisco poet laureate Jack Hirschman’s poem observed forcefully that “we’ve been finished off by technology and the CIA.” You could hear the poets roar.

•From there, on Sunday afternoon, we went to Macondray Lane for a book party for Sands Hall, whose new book about leaving Scientology is “Flunk. Start.” Hall comes from one of San Francisco’s distinguished literary families at the center of the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley, which was co-founded by her father, the late novelist Oakley Hall, and is administered by her sister, Brett Hall Jones. All that is relevant to her story, as shared in the memoir, of course, and also relevant to the book gathering.

Many guests had for years attended literary parties of every sort — honoring writers, raising money, just plain celebrating occasions — parties at the Hall house on Macondray Lane. Nowadays, much of the family, including the author, has moved to Nevada City. For many, this happy gathering, with music by Beaucoup Chapeaux, was a reminder of previous wine-soaked, candle-lit events, where writers perched on the narrow staircase trading insights about literature and carping about generous advances snagged by crafty agents for lesser writers.

Along with its dark tale of Scientology, Hall’s new book describes the milieu in which she was raised, and alludes to some of those literary high times. On Sunday, guests jammed themselves on the sofa and the arms of chairs, and flopped down on the crowded carpet and floor, fitting together like puzzle pieces, to listen as the author, also an actress/songwriter/singer/guitarist, sang a few love songs backed by the band.

Most everyone left with a book tucked under an arm, and it was as if every person who’d ever raised a glass in that room had returned in homage to those good times.

Leah Garchik washed up on the shores of Fifth and Mission in 1972, began her duties as a part-time temporary steno clerk, and ascended the journalistic ladder. Over the years, she has served as writer, reviewer, editor and columnist. She is the author of two books, “San Francisco: Its Sights and Secrets” and “Real Life Romance."

She is an avid knitter, a terrible accordion player, a sporadic tweeter and a pretty good speller.